My first night "out"

One of the few people that I actually know who I'm out to is my friend "Sam" who is a lesbian and trans FTM, pre-op. If I just used a bunch of terms you don't know, Sam is a biological woman who feels like a man. She dressed like a man, buzzes her hair, and one day wants to start testosterone therapy and possibly have a few operations to make her body match her head. So, as a lesbian, she is very "butch". She lives three hours away from me, so I don't get to see her often, but the other weekend she was in town. She convinced me to go with her to the local "gay" bar, which, truth to tell, while I had been curious, I never would have gone there on my own. I was terrified that I would see someone I know, or someone I know would recognize my car outside the place and ask why I was there, etc. 

Going out that night convinced me of a few things.

I really hate bars, of any variety. I hate cigarette smoke. I hate the way my eyes itch in it, I hate the way my clothes smell when I've been surrounded by it. I wish there was a gay coffee-house or a gay bookstore or a gay anything-else-but-a-bar in my town, because I truly hate bars.

I hate when people I'm with get drunk to the point of throwing up. Sam didn't, but her brother was with her, and he did. I was so embarrassed I wanted to sink into the floor, and I don't think I'm ever going to a bar again with Steele - although I might with Sam.

Kissing a woman is beautiful. Sam offered a little no-strings makeout, since she knows I haven't found the nerve to approach another woman yet. Kissing her was beautiful, and felt right in a way kissing a guy never felt. 

After kissing Sam I was able to start day-dreaming about what kind of woman I want to meet. Before it was just some kind of amorphous "woman" - now I've been thinking of what kind of hair I think is cute, and what things I would like her to be into, how she might dress, which books she might read. 

But cigarette smoke and vomit remain disgusting.

Why do people want to do things that lead to such substances?

So, I'm Famous

Apparently I'm the blog of the week in the Dallas Morning News - who knew? 

It's funny. I've had blogs on all kinds of things, wanted people to read them. The one time I'd prefer to just blog into the void - I get national attention.

Baby hunger

So, one of my friends had a baby last week. He's really cute, a little wide-eyed person staring out in the world.

While I know that I am not ready financially, relationally, or probably most other ways, I'm pretty sure that hormonally I am ready to have a baby. Every time I see one I want to hold it, every time I hold one, I want one.

Now, most of my life I've known that I had to wait until I was married to have children, but when I was planning on marrying a man, I knew that when the time came children would naturally come.

Now that's not so much the case.

I know I have options. Adoption, in vitro, etc...

I just wish that when the time comes... there's a way to make my child genetically mine and my yet to be discovered partner.

The romance is gone, but...

So, I go out to my favorite Mexican restaurant tonight. It's a little family owned place, with three generations currently working there, and absolutely fabulous fajitas. Another thing they have, that very few places actually do, is a desert called flan. Now, I grew up knowing people who made this wondrous desert at home, and came to enjoy it in that form. Now, among the few restaurants that actually have flan, some do a horrendous job, while others are decent. My favorite restaurant is fantastic at it. 

Back to tonight. I get my chips and salsa. I get my beef fajitas. I ask for my flan.

After a little while of waiting, the middle generation lady of this restaurant came out to my table, apologized, and said that someone had served the last unfrozen flan without taking out any more, but that she would be glad to pack one up for me to take home, and I could have it tomorrow. This seemed fine with me, she came back with a paper bag, and I payed my bill and left.

At home I peeked into the bag, wondering how one packages a flan, and found it in a plastic package complete with safety seal... this most wondrous flan is MASS PRODUCED, and not made by a little Hispanic grandmother in the back of the kitchen. This initially made me a little disappointed - the mystery is all gone... but now I'm wondering... if this restaurant can order frozen flan from somewhere, can I?

For those of you who have been wondering this whole time, what the heck is flan, the American Heritage Dictionary says it is "a custard that is baked in a caramel-lined mold and served chilled with the caramel side up." I say it is good. Above is a picture, randomly found on the internet.